We Are One
by Elphaba-Rose
Summary: Pairing: Leo/Usagi. A giftfic for a friend. Usagi gets frustrated with Leo's bad habit of martyrdom. Warning: super cheesy.


A.N: OTP alert! Thank you for reading.

We Are One

Anger is not an unfamiliar emotion to me. Many a time I find myself overcome by a heavy red haze and unwilling to listen to logic. Under usual circumstances I like to think that I am a relatively calm and reasonable person who is able to analyse the situation with sane and rational thought. It is what I have been trained to do, after all. Samurai mustn't charge head-first into crises with raging emotions ruling their heads. It is just asking for disaster.

However, when faced with crimes against justice, when innocents are wronged, when those that I love are in danger, I am afraid I cannot diffuse the mist that controls me. It is a frustrating flaw of mine, one that I try my hardest to correct. It is usually my friends that bring me out of these rages and force me to see the light once more. I am eternally grateful for this. I live in constant fear that one day they might not be there to guide me and I end up making a grave mistake.

So it is ironic that, this time, it is one of my loved ones that have induced this animosity within me tonight. I haven't felt this infuriated in such a long time that it is disconcerting. Leonardo's company usually fills me with a constant feeling of euphoria and peace that is difficult to destroy. We have had our disagreements before about various things, from consequential topics such as our own morals and lifestyles, to unimportant factors like clothing and what to have for dinner. But these are swiftly overshadowed by the light of the love we feel for one another.

The frustration I feel during those arguments pales in comparison to the fury that is bubbling within me right now. He has wronged me greatly and the worst thing is I do not think he even realises how much so. He can be wise beyond his years but at other times he can be so naive. I appreciate his maturity and adore his unwavering loyalty, it is refreshing to see this in someone so young. Yet, at times, it drives me insane.

I eye his still form mutinously from my perch by the window. There is a breeze dancing its way through the shutters but I do not move an inch. I wish he was awake to see the scowl on my face, to see the heartache he has caused me. But he is fast asleep, and has been for hours now. I know it is immoral of me to be so upset with him when he is in this condition, but thankfully I know he will recover, his wounds are not serious. Besides, he has to understand his actions have dire consequences. Although it may not be his intent, his actions hurt people.

I sigh and slump slightly in my chair, massaging the kinks from my shoulders. I am tired and weary from both battle and from keeping vigil by his bedside. I am loathe to leave my spot in favour of the bed however. I know that if I lay beside him, feel the tickle of his breath on my face, the smooth silk of his skin beneath my fingers, I will forgive him instantly. That cannot happen. I need him to know.

We were lucky to come across this inn and find a doctor willing to treat him. Leonardo is a lot bulkier than myself, and I could not have carried him much further. I was exhausted, sore and panicked. The innkeeper must have taken one look at me and feared for his life. Everyone has been so helpful and I am very grateful for all they have done for us. Such is the courtesy of village folk.

I cannot tell you the relief I felt when the doctor told me he would live, that there is nothing to worry about. Leonardo is such a vital part of my life I literally do not know how I could cope without him. It hurts enough when he returns home and even then he is only seconds away if I need him that badly. I do not like being so dependant on somebody, but when he makes me feel the way that I do, I really do not care.

I sit there quietly for an hour, scrutinising every rise and fall of his plastron, every twitch of his fingers. His brother could treat him better than any doctor on this earth, but he is not fit enough to travel, and I daren't leave him even for a second. Perhaps if he does not seem any better by the morning, then I would call for Donatello. The doctor advised he would be fine with stitches and rest and I have no reason to doubt him. I am just frustrated that it has come to this.

I have to resist the urge to drum my fingers impatiently against the worn wood. I think I may have to lie down and relax after all. This waiting around is doing nothing for my nerves and the muscles in my back are screaming from the tension. No doubt I will wake if I feel Leonardo rise, there is only the one futon after all. I will only end up falling asleep here and that will not bode well in the morning.

I rise carefully, wincing as my strained muscles twinge. I undress absent-mindedly, my eyes never leaving his face. The light sheen of sweat gives his skin an almost ethereal glow in the firelight. He looks eerily beautiful, like some sort of spirit ghosting through the night. You could believe it too, if you saw him melt into the darkness. It is as if his body is made up of shadows, snaking their way into the night. I shake the images from my head, blow out the candles and ease myself next to him.

He is ice cold to touch, and I mutter to myself, pulling the sheets tighter around his body. The bed is soft and comforting, and I cannot help but breathe a sigh in relief as I lay down. The acrid wisps of smoke linger and tickle my nose. I do not try to put my arm around him, but instead turn into his side, resting my hand reassuringly upon his plastron. It isn't our usual sleeping position, and I am not sure who I wanted to comfort, him or myself. All the same, I relax and close my eyes, soothing myself by running my fingers across the nicks and grooves in his smooth scutes.

It was not my intent to fall asleep. I suppose the long hours had finally caught up with me, and my body and spirit demanded recuperation. I wake to an empty bed, and it takes a few pats of the bare space beside me before I realise there is no one beside me. I sit up in a flurry of panic, ignoring the protests of my limbs and look around haphazardly. My heart ceases its desperate thumping when I spot him by the window, precariously stretching and evaluating his body's performance. I feel the frenzy ebb away, only to be replaced once more by the pulsating resentment from last night.

"What are you doing out of bed?" I demand, my voice shaking with suppressed emotion.

I fling the sheets back carelessly and stand, my joints cracking at the sudden movement. He looks over at me, his face a perfect picture of calmness, shoots me a small smile, completely oblivious to the venom eating away at me. He returns to flexing his arms, hissing as the large gash across his collar pulls at the movement. What a fool! I know he is not completely clueless as to return to his usual routines after an injury like that. Is he doing this purposely now to irk me? Because it is most certainly working.

"I'm awake. That's usually the main reason to get out of bed," He shrugs, an annoyingly charming lilt to his youthful voice.

"You have been injured. Lie back down at once," I spit, clenching my fists so hard my knuckles crack.

"This?" He questions, genuinely surprised. He rubs once at the bandages across his chest, off-handedly, neglectfully. "I've had worse,"

I bristle furiously. How dare he treat this with such nonchalance? He is gravely injured and he is behaving as if it is barely a nick! I understand that he has suffered various wounds and afflictions in the past as a result of his dangerous lifestyle, but that does not allow him to abuse his body in such a way. I know it is hard to remain bedridden, I myself am troubled by the same nagging feeling of laziness, but adequate recuperation is essential if you are going to be on top form once again. Otherwise you risk damaging yourself permanently.

"Regardless. You will feel better if you lay down," I insist forcibly. It is taking all of my self control to keep my rage in check.

He looks over at me in bewilderment, straightening and tilting his head slightly to assess me. He sees my rigid posture, my narrowed eyes, for the first time and finally realises my mood. I stare up at him, his amber eyes soft and unassuming. He wears no mask, no blades, naked and vulnerable in all their meanings. He smiles, an infuriating, patronising smile that only makes me want to yell at him. I have the inkling that this is how he treats Michelangelo when he is acting sulky.

"Usagi, love, I'm fine, honestly. It's just a scratch," He mollifies in a soft tone. It did nothing to ease my mood.

"It is not 'just a scratch'," I protest hotly, scowling.

His smile disappears, replaced with a frustrated sigh and a tightening of his shoulders. He is growing irate himself now. Good. I am not letting this go. He is in the wrong here and he needs to see that. I know that he is an immensely proud and stubborn individual but this is unacceptable. If our relationship is going to continue with the same dedicated trust and blossoming love as it has been doing, we need to iron out this kink.

"Usagi," He says my name patiently, drawn out, as if it is costing him great effort not to lose his temper with me. "Yes, I'm injured. But it really is worse than it looks. All I needed was a good sleep. I feel fine. I won't over do it I promise," He vows sincerely, searching my eyes with his own.

I scrutinise him closely, analysing how he holds himself. He appears stiff, but on the whole relaxed and in no apparent pain. Surely if he was that hurt he would be suffering a little more? Hm. I may have to give him the benefit of the doubt. He is obstinate, but not senseless. Still. That does not mean he is forgiven. I still have grievances with him that need settling. He cannot go on thinking that his actions are acceptable.

"You could have died," I snap harshly, struggling to keep my volume low. The walls of this inn are literally paper thin and the guests unwelcomely nosy.

His eyes widen for the briefest of seconds before he actually begins laughing. Do not get me wrong, it is the most beautiful sight and sound in the world. I adore the twinkle that finds its way into his eyes, the melodious peal of his voice. But when he is mocking me like this, I find it hard to see the beauty in it. It is just another case of my impetuous nature and how it blinds all logical thought. I should remain calm and analytical, but all I care about is making him realise how much he has hurt me.

"This is not a laughing matter Leonardo," I growl darkly, truly offended by his reaction. He hastily quiets his amusement.

"I'm sorry Usagi, it's just I really wasn't going to die back then," He disagrees good-naturedly, taking a few steps forward. His footsteps are undetectable on the dusty floorboards.

"I beg to differ," I keep my voice dangerously quiet now, and the tone causes him to frown in concern. "You threw yourself in front of that blade. For me,"

"Is that what this is really about?" He questions, voice clipped with exasperation now.

I think finally he is beginning to understand there is more to this than him being out of bed prematurely. I see now that he made a lucky escape, the laceration across his collar is thankfully shallow, if sore. But it could have been so much worse. The assailant could have easily raised his arm a little higher, and it would have slit his throat. Just thinking about it now fills me with an icy fear that sears my heart. I close my eyes, fighting the shiver that threatens to overtake me.

I can picture it as vividly as if it truly happened. The silver steel of our enemy's blade is so sharp it tears through his jugular like a sickle slices the rice crops. The trickle of blood is barely noticeable at first, but then it dribbles and froths, spilling from the wound in torrents. He falls to the ground in a boneless heap, his swords clattering from his grip. The light rapidly vanishes from his eyes, leaving them cold and like glass, forever frozen. And I lose complete control of sanity.

I force myself back to reality with great effort, glaring up at him. He is alive and well. I have to remind myself of that. I can feel the adrenalin coursing through my veins, demanding action and excitement. My heart was pounding in my chest, an erratic, pumping rhythm. It is wrong, that I should feel so elated by my anger, by his increasingly riled responses. His tense posture and deadly eyes fill me with a pleasure I cannot quite explain.

"Do you have any idea how much you have worried me?" I implore passionately, marching forwards as an attempt to intimidate him. It is a tall order however, with my small demeanour.

"Probably. But I'd do it again in a heartbeat," He whispers dangerously, refusing to back down an inch.

The confession makes me stop dead in my tracks.

"What?" I inhaled sharply, eyes flashing perilously.

How can he admit to that? How can he willingly put me through that heartache again? He has brothers, he is their leader, I know he feels similarly. How many times has he described that crushing grief, the unceasing anguish, when they are in danger? And he would put me through that again in a heartbeat? Has he gone mad? I would never intentionally make him experience the same torture I have just been through in the last twenty four hours.

"Don't you get it?" His resolve finally cracks, genuinely agitated now.

He is heartbreakingly breathtaking when he is brimming with such passion. Leonardo constantly feels hampered by many emotions but, unlike Raphael, he keeps them firmly locked up within himself. He would have made a faultless samurai, if only he were born in my world. He never allows anger, or fear, or excitement get the better of him. He is a diamond wall, flawless and unyielding. That is, until he is struck in one specific spot. Then the structure shatters into millions of stunning shards, revealing the vulnerable soul beneath. This is when I love him the most, when he embraces what he is feeling and exposes himself to me.

"I would take a hit for you tomorrow without a second thought!" He thunders desperately, voice catching slightly in his throat.

I stare at him for a while, alarmed into silence. His eyes bore into my own, shimmering and frantic. I swallow nervously, feeling slightly foolish. My worry is only an unfortunate consequence of his actions to him. He would sacrifice himself for me without even thinking twice. What a lunatic, impulsive boy. Always determined to carry the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. I would never be able to live with myself if he was killed as a result of such stunts. It is hard enough when he is merely wounded.

"That is an utterly ridiculous thing to do," I scold him bitterly, my face twisting into a scowl.

"No it isn't! You can't tell me that if it were me in danger, you wouldn't do the same?" He glowers defiantly.

We are only inches apart now. I draw myself up to my full height, my shoulders tight and chest proud. I am unsure exactly how intimidating I can be when my ears are not tied into their top knot and I am dressed in only my fundoshi but I try my hardest. He towers above me, a terrifying mass of intensity and contempt. It takes all my strength to fight the desire flooding through me. I have never been more attracted to him and now is certainly not the time.

"Of course I would!" I scoff, waving a hand in dismissal. "But that is an entirely-"

"It is not different at all!" He cuts me off indignantly, seizing my arms.

I can see his muscles straining as he stops himself from shaking me in despair. The desire to physically force some sense into him was rapidly losing power to the lustful want within me. It is inappropriate of me to be aroused at a time like this. I have to make it clear to him that it is unacceptable for him to do such things. Of course it is different for me, that is what I have been trained to do for a young age. It is my duty to put the life of others before mine. He has no obligation to do that whatsoever.

"It is! I am honour-bound to sacrifice my life for the innocent, but first and foremost, I would do it because I cannot bear to lose you!" I cry fiercely, no longer caring that we may be overheard.

"And my reasons are the same! Watching you get hurt and knowing I could have done something about it would destroy me. I'd give my life a thousand times over so you'd be safe!" He insists fiercely, his grip on my biceps becoming painful.

I want to argue my case until he concedes but he is so headstrong. He does not see the problems that would arise from such actions. I believe that we are at a stalemate, neither of us would admit defeat. I know that if he died in place of me, I would forever be wracked with guilt and heartache, to the point where I would no longer find any purpose in my life. However, if I were to die for him, I have faith that eventually he would get over my death and would continue with his life. He has his brothers and he is young after all, and time heals all wounds.

But for the moment, we are both alive and well. It seems pointless to continue this at the moment, when we are both so stubborn and wound up. We will only end up growing more and more vexed with one another and nothing would be solved. It is something we can discuss when we are both calm and able to think clearly. Still. We need to somehow expel this violent energy within before we hurt one another, be that physically or verbally. I have never wanted to strike Leonardo before but I do not want to risk injuring him further.

So instead I snatch hold of his face and pull myself out of his grasp, yanking his face down to meet mine for a searing kiss. He returns the gesture with the same fervour, his hands clutching at my waist and pulling me forwards against his plastron. It swiftly turned heated, eager mouths nipping and suckling at the other. It is sloppy, erotic, filled with burning desire brought on by our anger. He soon wrestles me towards the bed and we collapse together, entwining limbs and mouths together.

My hands roam his body, finger-pads brushing the smooth curve of his backside. A vicious nip from him and I wrap my hand around his tail, squeezing and rubbing the appendage. He groans lowly, and my fundoshi is brutally yanked off as punishment. His mouth travels down the length of my throat, his broad palms coaxing me to full hardness. A strangled gasp escapes my throat and I shiver at the sensitive touch.

I arch into him against my better judgement, dragging my hands down his scarred plastron to release his own penis from his scutes. I induce mewls and churrs from him with teasing touches and strokes. Neither of us hold back, expending our frustrations through sexual exploration and fervent kissing. The air is full of harsh panting, choked gasps and whimpers, our breath misting upon the other's skin.

The sex is rough and unforgiving. Both us forget his light injury, driven too much by our lust and our want. Bruises twinge and joints ache but they are overwhelmed by the waves of furious pleasure that quake our bodies. We are left with kiss swollen lips, sore bite marks across our skin and limbs that feel boneless. I fall beside him, fighting to catch my breath, pressing my face against his shoulder.

The unbridled anger I felt is no longer present, and instead I feel a calm contentment. We are silent for a few moments, patiently waiting for our hearts to resume their usual rhythms. I notice minuscule spots of blood littering his bandage and lean up on my elbows to check his condition. He merely gives me a tired smile and rolls over to bury his face in my fur. I sigh and settle down, encircling my arms around his shoulders and holding on with all my might.

The distinctions between Leonardo and myself are not merely physical. We share vastly dissimilar lifestyles, but we also share the same soul. We have different methods, different upbringings. But we both harbour a love for honour, justice and truth. I love him. He is the air that I breathe, the blood that flows through my veins. We will argue again. But it will be brief and it will be meaningless. The bond that we share is everlasting and sententious. We will not let it die. We will overcome all obstacles. He is ninja. I am samurai. We are one.


End file.
